


Dread Wolf's Teeth

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Biting, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-31 06:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Solas has always paid close attention to what Lavellan wears.





	Dread Wolf's Teeth

# 1.

The first time Solas saw him, it was plain he was Dalish. His clothes were a deep, forest green, verdantly coloured leathers over dyed linen cloth, and it complemented the Anchor now buried in his palm. This was Solas’ fault, that much was certain, that a young elf should be scarred in such a way…

There were other elements to his clothes, of course.

As Solas undid his jerkin to access his chest, that he might better ensure he had a steady heartbeat, he saw the charms on his person – the young man had Mythal’s vallaslin inked over his forehead and the curves of his cheeks, and he wore one of her charms around his neck, but there were others, too, on chains at his collarbone: June, Sylaise, Falon’din.

He wore wooden beads marked with icons of Ghilan’nain coiled about one wrist, some marked with halla, and on the central piece, made of halla horn, he saw the mark of a woman’s face.

On the other wrist, he wore a few tributes to Andruil. He looked like a hunter, that much was certain, with his light clothes, his muscle, and those icons only confirmed it – worn on his arrow hand, where they were most needed.

The buttons on his jerkin wore Mythal’s symbol, as did the fastenings on his boots, the buckle on his belt. He aligned himself with Mythal, then. Was that a good sign? It was impossible to be sure what it was about Mythal that drew his devotion – what twisted vision did the Dalish hold of her, that they should hold her in such high regard?

He groaned softly, still buried in painful unconsciousness, and Solas saw the glint at his braid, reached for it.

This was a secret thing, worn at the nape of the neck, underneath his hair, and it wasn’t made of silver, like most of the periapts he wore were, but of bone.

Solas’ mouth was dry as he touched the carving dug into the bone, saw the wolf’s eye carved neatly on it – and it _was_ a wolf’s eye, because he saw the way the corner led down toward a lengthened snout, and it matched the other designs he had seen of Fen’Harel in Dalish art and sculpture. Teeth marked the other side of the charm, and Solas thrilled despite himself.

It was wrong of him.

He did his best to set the guilt aside.

It was weeks later, at Haven, that Lavellan told a fascinated Blackwall, “There are a lot of phrases about him. May the Dread Wolf take you – that’s a curse. Dread Wolf’s teeth, an exclamation. May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps – that’s a blessing. May the Dread Wolf ever be at your heels – that’s a curse, too, but May you _run_ like the Dread Wolf is at your heels, that’s a blessing. I always liked that one.”

He said it with a secret smile, and Solas thought of the charm at the nape of his neck, the wolf’s teeth kissing his skin.

# 2.

Lavellan had refused the armour Cassandra and Cullen had tried to get him to wear. It was elven armour, but it was the armour of city elves, made for elven soldiers, and Lavellan had spared no scorn in refusing it, criticising its every element: how tight it would be at the waist, the hip, the shoulder, how it would restrict his movement, how difficult it would make it to run or to climb.

He had sat down in the smithy himself to discuss Dalish designs – he was confident in what he wanted of the clothes he wore, the armour he wanted, and it was at a stark contrast with how he responded to other demands on his person, merely silent when someone asked some Chantry favour of him.

“Must you— Must the Herald wear those?” Solas had heard Giselle ask of Ambassador Montilyet, who had turned her gaze on Lavellan. Was it his armour that the Chantry Mother referred to? Or was it the charms laden around his neck, upon his wrists?

“Master Lavellan’s wardrobe is his own decision,” Montilyet said stoutly.

“But— His poor feet,” Giselle said, and Solas looked to the Dalish wraps he wore, even in the snow. His feet didn’t freeze or shiver, like a human’s might have.

“You don’t worry for Solas’ feet,” Montilyet pointed out, and Giselle looked to Solas.

Solas smiled at her, and found himself amused where Giselle turned her gaze away from him.

# 3.

In the hotel room in Val Royeaux, Solas waited with the Iron Bull for Lavellan, Varric, Vivienne, and Pavus to return from the party they’d been moving to… From what Solas had heard, take to pieces.

He heard them laughing as they ascended the stairs, even the so-called Iron Lady, and Solas looked at their finery as they entered into the room, saw Vivienne artfully bow her head so that her hat did not catch on the doorframe, as the Iron Bull had when he’d entered, wearing a gossamer gown of a striking venom green; Pavus wore black robes that bared half of his chest, making the silver buckles and jewellery glitter in the light, and Solas saw the kohl at his eyes, a little of the paint on his lips.

Varric, of course, wore red finery, gold at his ear, around his neck, complementing the colour of his hair, but—

When Solas saw Lavellan, his mouth fell open.

He had painted over his vallaslin with makeup, leaving his handsome face bare and unmarred, and that in itself was beautiful, breathtaking, but the rest… A golden cap curled around one of his ears, the chain dangling a little before it clipped to the lobe, a mirror to the jewellery Dorian wore in his own ear; his suit was made of silken gold with threads of green making silhouettes of leaves and vines amidst the shining cloth, and Pavus was leading him by the land, the two of them laughing as young men should laugh together.

He looked every bit a noble elf, the likes of which Solas had not seen in—

He closed his mouth.

“Solas!” Lavellan said, his eyes alight, his white teeth showing, “Aneth ara – lasa ghilan, vallas—”

“Elvish, Elvish, _please_!” Pavus cried out, and Lavellan laughed, so easily – he was usually so solemn, but he laughed brightly, now. His cheeks were pink.

“How much drink did you pour into the little elf?” the Iron Bull asked, arching his eyebrows, and Lavellan sat down on a chair, reaching up and touching his face.

“_Falas_,” Lavellan said, emphasising the word as he looked at Pavus, who stared at him blankly.

“He wants a washcloth,” Solas supplied, and Pavus reached for the jug of water on the side, wetting the cloth. Solas caught his wrist, and Pavus stared at him. _Don’t_, Solas didn’t let himself say. _Let me enjoy him, barefaced, free, for a little longer_.

“Tell us of your evening’s adventures,” Solas said. “The Bull and I are on tenterhooks, I am sure.”

Pavus dropped the cloth, delighted.

“_Well_,” he said, but Solas looked at Lavellan, who was smiling, leaning back in his chair, looking so much as he _ought_, as elves _ought_…

Solas wondered what it might be like to kiss his mouth, to feel Lavellan yield under Solas’ lips. Was he wearing the Dread Wolf’s teeth at his neck, even now?

# 4.

This was Solas’ favourite of Lavellan’s outfits, thus far.

He had stripped every thread from the other man’s body, had drawn the charms from his wrists and his neck. Lavellan’s body was bare of any marks of ownership except the vallaslin on his face, and except—

He reached, tangling a hand in Lavellan’s hair, and Lavellan let out a sharp gasp, grabbing at his forearm, as Solas undid the braid that held the charm in his hair, pulling it free. He looked at it, on its leather ring, examined it.

“What will you strip me of next?” Lavellan asked, without rancour, his thighs spread apart, Solas kneeling between them. “My skin?”

Sola stared at the vallaslin on his face, his lips parted, and then he met Lavellan’s eye. “Perhaps,” he murmured, and Lavellan laughed, breathlessly, tipping back his chin, baring his neck – all the better for Solas’ teeth to bite there.

“Why do you wear Fen’Harel’s mark?” Solas asked, and Lavellan looked at the charm.

“I found it, a long time ago,” Lavellan said lowly. “I liked it. I wore it around my neck, but when the keeper saw it, she was furious. So… I wore it in my hair, instead.”

“An act of rebellion,” Solas said softly, falling forward, the charm still held between his fingers as he framed Lavellan’s body with his own, his mouth almost touching Lavellan’s, their noses brushing together. “Vhenan…”

“Kiss me,” Lavellan said, reaching to touch his cheek, and Sola disobeyed: he bit down hard at the juncture of the other man’s neck, and Lavellan’s moan split the air above their head.

# +1

He had been wrong, before.

_This_ was his favourite.

Lavellan was still half-asleep as he padded across the room, glancing at some of the documents on his desk, his legs slightly stiff in their movements, and Solas watched the way his own shirt hung loose on Lavellan’s body, the sleeves a little bit tight at his arms but the main part of the shirt hung loose.

He _smelled_ like Solas, now. Solas could see the marks of his teeth on his neck, his thighs, the insides of his calves, his wrists, but there he was, had chosen to wrap himself up _even more_ in Solas, to pull on Solas’ shirt and move about in it as though it didn’t mae Solas want to drag him back down into bed and never let him leave.

He looked _comfortable_ in it.

“Vhenan,” Solas said, and Lavellan turned to look at him.

“Hm?”

“Come back to bed.”

“Come back to work,” Lavellan replied, and Solas slid forward, loping across the room and throwing his arms about Lavellan’s belly, burying his face in the nape of Lavellan’s neck, letting his teeth touch the skin there. He felt Lavellan shudder.

“It’s past two bells,” Solas murmured. “The world won’t end if you join me in the Fade.”

“It might,” Lavellan said.

Solas’ hand slid lower, and Lavellan hissed.

“Alright,” he said, turning in Solas’ arms and mouthing at the side of his jaw. “You’ve convinced me.” He went for the hem of Solas’ shirt, but Solas caught his wrists as he crowded him back toward the bed.

“No,” he said, ignoring Lavellan’s disbelieving, delighted look. “Wear it.”

He dipped to catch Lavellan under his mouth, and Lavellan gasped, throwing out his hands and fisting them in the sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq). I also run a no-drama Dragon Age Discord, which [you can join here.](https://discordapp.com/invite/ttgP5v8) Please comment if you can!


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